


For Sunlight Is Like Gold

by ask_the_birds



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F, Or Is It?, Royalty AU, fairy tale AU, magic yes, not a golden goose, read to find out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ask_the_birds/pseuds/ask_the_birds
Summary: Héloïse is a princess who promises her hand to the man who can make her laugh. Marianne is a violinist, and has loved her since she was eight years old. Partially based on the golden goose fairy tale, not sure if that's been done, but I'm doing it.
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge about royalty or anything except lesbians really. In this, Marianne has two sisters (amelie- three years older, julia - two years older). Wrote this .2 seconds after finishing the movie. Enjoy!

Marianne met Héloïse for the first time the summer of her eighth year. She had been young and sunburnt, her mind on running through the blue grass around her family's farm and scraping her knees and living as much as possible rather than bills or work or hardship. Marianne was aware that her childhood had been blissfully happy, though she couldn't say who had made it so. Was it her parents, keeping everything quiet and safe for her and her sisters, letting them grow without burdening them with troubles? Or was it her, and her child's mind too innocent to even comprehend that something could be amiss? Was it her who had convinced herself that her belly would always be full, her sky always free and open?

It was no use dwelling on it as an adult.

Anyway, the circumstances of Marianne setting eyes on the young princess were a bit extraordinary. Her father had been called into town for some business regarding their farm, and he had offered for Marianne and her two sisters to ride aboard his wagon. It had been a fun ride, Marianne remembered. Being with her sisters was always a grand time, when she was a child. She felt included and loved, the way only a youngest child can. There was Amelie, the oldest, who was always in a hurry to grow up and fill in the chest of her mother's borrowed gown. Then there was Julia, not as vain but twice as mean. Julia thought nothing was more funny than Marianne screaming as she tugged her hair. But that ride, that day, had been good, not any of them fighting or jostling.

When they arrived into town, their father had asked them to make themselves scarce. Naturally, they decided to get into trouble. The castle was at the center of town, surrounded by gardens. These were guarded fiercely, but somehow they had managed to sneak past and into the well-kept grounds with ease. Marianne, being the youngest, had nothing to do with their plans.

Once inside, they found their way to a grassy patch, probably made for croquet or something, and rolled around and practiced cartwheels. It either didn't occur to them what would happen if they were caught, or they didn't care. They didn't even bother to be quiet.

"I want to play princess," Amelie said, bossily. "Julia, you can be my betrothed- Marianne will be the court jester."

"I don't want to play your betrothed!" Julia complained. "Let me be a princess, too!"

Amelie tossed her hair, clearly irritated. "Fine. You can be the youngest princess, and Marianne will be your betrothed."

Marianne was mid-cartwheel, already taking on her role as jester, but came down with a flump. Julia cast a look at Marianne, like she couldn't believe she had to be betrothed to such an idiot.

"What do I do?" Marianne asked.

Amelie scrutinized her, then waved her hand towards Julia. "Go and take her hand."

Marianne did, Julia's fingers squirming in hers. 

"Stop that!" Amelie commanded, assuming the voice of the older princess. "Not in my castle! You are thrown out!"

"Amelie!" Julia whined. "That's too soon!"

Amelie shook her head firmly. "I insist. As the queen-to-be, I must have no one standing in my way."

Julia, suddenly overcome with the indignity, shook suddenly. "Fine!" she said, voice wobbling. "You ruin everything!"

She threw Marianne's hand down and stalked off, disappearing into a clump of bushes. Without thinking, Marianne ran after her, though her sister shouted, "Stay, Marianne!"

Marianne couldn't have been more than five seconds behind her older sister, but when she emerged out the other side, she was suddenly nowhere to be found. Marianne looked around, dazedly confused. She wasn't even sure what part of the garden she was in- it was made of pink and white flowers, like something out of a fairy tale. Even the grass was different, soft and lush instead of coarse. Marianne bent down and pet it, marvelling.

"Who are you?" somebody asked.

Marianne straightened, automatically. She was a stupid girl, but she still knew that she shouldn't be caught in royalty's garden.

There was a girl standing a few feet away from her. She was wearing the kind of dress that Marianne didn't have, the kind that brushed the grass like water flowing. It was as pink as the flowers around them, and from its neck was the loveliest face Marianne had ever seen. Marianne knew that it was the princess without any other proof, only needing to look into her serene eyes to know who she was.

"Are you my new playmate?" the girl asked.

Marianne blushed. She felt strange looking at her face, scared that she was unworthy, and her eyes would only disturb her perfection.

"I'm Marianne," she said, softly. 

"Come here, Marianne."

Marianne looked up, startled that she would ask such a thing. Still, she beckoned with one pale hand. Her eyes had not a single trace of doubt or fear, as if those things were not hers to have in life. Marianne approached meekly, head slightly bowed.

The princess waited until Marianne was standing before her, less than a foot apart, before she stopped motioning her forward. They studied each other. Marianne could smell her breath, sweet as honey, and what must have been soaps or perfumes lingering on her skin. Up close, though, she noticed how similar they looked as well. They were about the same height, and though she was cleaner and prettier, the princess reached for her as she would have, without awkwardness with with unsteady fingers.

The princess caressed Marianne's head gently, running her hand down the side of her hair. Marianne was embarrassed but also not- it was unlike her to be truly embarrassed by anything.

"I like the color of your hair," the princess said. 

"I think yours is better," Marianne said, immediately. "I think mine looks like soil. Don't you think?"

The princess smiled. It took Marianne's breath away. Her teeth were a bit crooked, but her smile was like the sun breaking over the hills in the morning nonetheless. Marianne wanted to take it and put it in her pocket, savor it like a treasure.

"No. It's pretty."

There was a shout from somewhere nearby, and they both jumped. Marianne glanced over her shoulder, and realized she had been gone for a long time.

"I have to leave now," she said. "My sisters will be looking for me."

The princess's face fell. "Oh."

"They probably think I've fallen out of a tree and broken my neck," Marianne said, and the princess laughed. 

If her smile had been honey, her laugh was gold. It was not because the sound was delicate or tinkling. In fact, it was much like Julia's coarse guffaw. Marianne grinned, unable to help herself. She loved it because it felt like a gift, something dropped in her hand by an angel.

"Please come again," the princess said. "Marianne. Come back, someday."

"I will," Marianne promised. "I'll be-"

There was a rustling in the bushes, and Marianne flinched again. She did not want her sisters to come and disturb this, nor did she want them to share in the miracle of the princess's attention. Hurriedly, and without much thought, she kissed her on the cheek.

The princess looked at her with wide eyes, and Marianne was filled with fear. She had not been aware of a no-kissing law in the land (she would learn she that law didn't need to be written down in its obviousness- but she was eight years old).

"No one has ever kissed me," the princess confided, her eyes wide. 

"I have to go. Good bye!"

"Come again!" the princess said as Marianne tore herself away. "I will kiss your cheek, when you come again!"

Marianne turned back and waved, and then she ducked back into the bushes. She emerged to find her sisters squabbling in the center of their grassy patch.

"Marianne!" Amelie said, her voice strained when she saw her. "Oh, my Marianne, where did you go? We have to leave!"

"Why did you have to run off at the palace?" Julia asked, exasperatedly and unfairly. They each grabbed one of her hands and made for the place she had just left. She began to protest, fearful of the princess seeing her being dragged around, but when they came through the bushes there was nothing but a few trees and the wall, over which was the town. 

Again, they miraculously escaped notice and made their way back. They were just in time to be scolded by their father for being late.

Marianne was in a trance the way there, and the way back. She could not stop replaying the moment her lips had touched the princess's cheek, couldn't understand her great feeling of loss at leaving the palace behind. Later, she would jokingly refer to it as her first love. "Princess Héloïse was my first love," she'd tell her friends, over drinks, and they'd laugh because it seemed ridiculous. In some ways it was a joke.

But in some others, it was not.


	2. Chapter 2

When Marianne moved to the city, she kept a song her father used to play while her mother sang. She and and her sisters all knew it, and Julia and Amelie sang it in a delicate two part harmony while Marianne accompanied on her violin. The song went:

_My lover has hair like honeyed gold_

_When I am near him I shan't grow cold_

_And if ever I should go on to the sea_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

_Oh hey, lover, oh hey_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

When Marianne's mother sang it, it sounded sweet and beautiful and mysterious, and her father's violin coming to dance with it. When played correctly, that was how it was supposed to sound: like a dance. Amelie and Julia weren't nearly as good. Amelie always took the melody, though her voice was thin and quiet, and Julia always took the high harmony, though _her_ voice was almost as booming and low as their father's. Marianne would not dispute that her skill on the violin could rival her father's, though. 

Perhaps she loved that it was a violin most of all. It was no fiddle- her father had gotten it made in the city when he was a boy, and had carried it through his life. When he gave it to Marianne to learn it, she knew it was the truest act of love she could recieve from him. When she was twelve, that made her sort of nervous. Her father was a quiet man, not prone to sudden acts of grace, and he seemed to slip away year by year as their crops grew less prosperous and their money dwindled. When she and her sisters had left at eighteen and he had pressed the violin into Marianne's arms, she knew that it was the last bit of life he had. Her mother had died when she was fifteen. 

That violin was all his love, and the legacy of a family made broken and turned solitary. And she had broken it.

It had been so easy. She had left it on her table as she went to get another round for her friends, all of them laughing and talking too loud. They had been drunk, and Marianne had been drunk, and giddy. So she came back with the alcohol and climbed on the table to dance for them. Clumsily stepping, goaded on by their cheers, Marianne hadn't been thinking about the precious thing she had left laying there until she brought her foot down on it.

It made a crunch like a bone breaking. Marianne looked down with a shout and saw her own foot, as if from a million miles up, crushed into the body of her violin. Some of the strings, already fraying and brittle, had snapped on impact, and the wood had splintered like ice on fresh snow.

It shouldn't have been that easy to destroy everything? Shouldn't have been that easy to snap her family's legacy. But it was.

She had taken the pieces home to Julia, wailing. Julia, naturally, hadn't cared much about the violin but had chastised Marianne for getting drunk again. "You're so careless, Marianne!" she scolded, trying to take the shattered remains of the instrument from her. "You are an unmarried woman, galavanting in pubs like a bard with your little fiddle-"

"How will we sing Golden-Haired Lover?" Marianne gasped through a sob. "Julia- oh, Julia, it's all gone, it's ruined-"

"Imagine a nice blacksmith catching a glance at you like this- I don't know how you'd change his mind."

Julia gave up trying to yank the pieces away, and left Marianne to her misery. Amelie's husband wasn't rich by any means, but he had gotten them rooms with enough space to put one bed in the kitchen and one in the washroom, so Marianne did have a room to herself. There, she hugged the fragments all night and cried.

Marianne worked for the bakery in town, along with three other girls. She knew she'd gotten the job because she was half-pretty, the kind of girl the owner of the bakery, named Louis, liked to collect like teacups. But it paid decently, and it was a far cry from farm work, and she was rather artistic with her breads. By the time morning had come, she knew she had to put down the violin and move on to the profitable part of her life. She got up, put on her dress and an apron, and walked into town. Then, as she approached the bakery, she realized she was not trying to go there.

She didn't have any idea where she was going until it rose before her, impossible to ignore. She was heading for the castle.

She hadn't been near the place since she was eight, on that visit with her father. Then, the ride had taken them close enough to reach the castle easily, but she and Julia lived much farther from it now, and there had been no reason for her to visit again. 

Perhaps that promise she had made... perhaps then... but that seemed so muddled and far away it was almost like a dream. Marianne was now certain she had met a servant instead of the child princess, named Héloïse. No, the princess would not have stroked her hair. She certainly wouldn't have let Marianne kiss her cheek. It was fun to pretend that was who it was, that was all. 

It didn't matter, because that was not who she was here to see. The idea came to her like a vivid streak of color through grey: she wanted to find that patch of grass she and her sisters had lain in that day when she was eight. 

It was ridiculous. Marianne was being ridiculous, mourning the violin like it was her own brother. It did feel a loss, though, a terrible loss. It was as if the violin was everything keeping her together, and sane, and now it was gone and Marianne was lost. She was lost.

The palace, one guarded at every angle, now had a high stone wall and guards only on the corners. Marianne didn't know what had changed- from what she heard there was more want than ever to infiltrate the palace. Princess Héloïse, having turned eighteen, and then nineteen, was unwed. A rumor had once gotten to Marianne that she refused to smile, and would only marry a man who could make her smile. How stupid, Marianne had thought. To be burdened by a trifle like marriage when one was a princess.

Despite that, or, Marianne thought wickedly, perhaps because of that, it was easy to sneak into the gardens. Easier than it should have been, yes. Marianne didn't think of it- she was thinking of that song. Playing it in her head, her fingers miming the changes on the neck of the instrument. Her hands ached to hold it. Her shoulder was cold.

In her delusional fit, it was very easy for Marianne to scale the wall and cross to the other side. In fact, bricks seemed to mold into her hands like they were being pushed there, and her body never once wobbled as she started down the other side. And no one saw her. Even though huge glass windows covered the front of the palace, even though there were probably guards and servants in there, too, Marianne was spirited down to the gardens. She would care later, but not then.

With enormous purpose for someone who had no idea where they were going, Marianne made her way through the garden. She was bent nearly double in her effort not to be seen through the windows, but this did not stop her from moving quickly. If anyone she knew had seen her then they would have assumed her mad.

She crashed through bushes and winded around trees, thinking _my lover has hair like honeyed gold._

Because that song was repeating in her head, it took her moment to recognize that it was being sung. Abruptly, Marianne stopped where she was and looked around. 

She was just through a rosebush, sequestered from the windows by a sudden orange grove, and the singing was coming from somewhere ahead. It occurred to her that- it couldn't be Princess Héloïse, could it? Her sister was long gone, married off to some king somewhere, and her mother couldn't have sounded like that. Or, maybe it was the servant, the servant that had touched her hair...

Marianne went on, eager to find out who else could possibly know the song. She was quickly disappointed, though, because it was suddenly evident that it was a maid. She was much to young to have been Marianne's, and her hair was mousy brown anyway. In her hands she held a washboard, which she rubbed with a piece of yellow cloth.

Marianne approached her, and the girl looked at her. She had a pleasant, almost heart-shaped face, and large eyes. With her mouth closed, she immediately looked like she was frowning.

"The song you're singing," Marianne said, breathlessly.

"Yes. Golden-Haired Lover." The maid sighed as if this made her wildly upset, somehow. "You're familiar with it?"

"My father used to play it on the violin."

"Do you play, Marianne?" the maid asked. The clearness of this question, delivered a quarter second after Marianne's response, shocked her momentarily. The maid was looking at her, brown eyes intense and grave.

"I- I broke my violin."

"That's not a problem," the maid said, again sighing. She glanced over Marianne's shoulder, and Marianne turned to look, for some reason assuming she saw a violin growing from a tree. Marianne's mind was so muddled, she hadn't even questioned that the maid knew her name. When she looked back, the maid was holding out a bow and her violin. Her violin. It looked exactly the same, minus the damage done by Marianne's foot. The maid raised her eyebrows impatiently, and Marianne took the instrument.

"Will you play for me?" the maid asked. It didn't sound like a request. Marianne raised the violin and bow, and looked at the maid. This situation was hilariously strange, but in the moment it felt both completely natural and also not, as if Marianne could see how this was odd but was scared to chase the illusion off.

She began to play. It felt incredible, like she had scratched an itch, and sounded better than it ever had. Marianne closed her eyes, savoring the sound. It was like being hugged by her father, kissed by her mother. It was like going back in time, to when she was happy every day, sunbaked and smiling.

The maid didn't sing her part, but Marianne couldn't be bothered to stop. In fact, playing had never felt so clean before. She swayed with the song, imagined the farm and her mother's voice. 

_Oh hey, lover, oh hey_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_.

She ended with a flourish, opening her eyes to find the maid had disappeared. Again, this seemed natural to Marianne. She looked around, vaguely curious to see if she had gone to stand by the tree or perhaps had produced Marianne's father and mother too, somehow. Instead, she turned and saw a girl. No. A woman.

For the second time in Marianne's life, her breath had been stolen from her. She stared, for a moment convinced that this too was an illusion, born from her hazy dream of royalty. She also knew that it wasn't. It couldn't be. But also, she couldn't bear it to be a falsehood.

"Who are you?" Princess Héloïse asked Marianne, for the second time in both of their lives.

Marianne dropped her violin down from her chin and tried to breathe. This illusion had nearly broken, the weirdness of everything almost setting in, but before she could think clearly, she said, "I'm your new playmate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can't tell I don't know what the fuck i'm saying about violins, i play piano  
> I intended this to be three chapters, but now its evolving so i'm playing it safe and going with ?   
> hope you're enjoying!


	3. Chapter 3

They stared at each other.

Héloïse had been changed from childhood. Her hair was still that pale gold, her eyes bright and wide, but she was taller. Her nose had become more pronounced, and so had her lips. Her face had lost its baby-roundness. Still, Marianne was certain, absolutely certain she knew this girl. 

Marianne licked her lips, waiting for one of them to both, to make whatever was happening finish, to move it further into the sun and examine it.

Héloïse frowned and tilted her head. “Why are you addressing me? Do you work here?"

Marianne closed her mouth and hastily dipped into the bow she should have fallen into the moment they saw each other. "I'm sorry," she said. "I am... no, I don't. Your Majesty."

"Come here."

Marianne's heart beat a little faster, the words so firmly etched into her brain echoed more than a decade later, and approached the princess without looking at her. 

"Stop there," Héloïse said, when she was about a foot away. She did. "Look up."

She did.

Their eyes met, again. It became suddenly clear to Marianne that Héloïse was not smiling, nor did she look at Marianne with fondness or wonder. She looked closed-off. Her face looked like it had been carved from marble, like she was a statue.

"How did you get here?" Héloïse asked.

Marianne opened her mouth, and then closed it. She settled at last for, "I climbed over the wall."

Héloïse looked at the violin and bow in her hands, and looked at Marianne with one eyebrow raised. "You did."

"Yes," Marianne said. 

After a moment of the princess's icy attention, Héloïse cast her eyes from her face and sighed.

"Fine. You can explain to the guards how you got here."

"Wait, Your Majesty, I'm telling the truth. This violin was given to me within the garden."

Héloïse's eyes, jewel-beautiful, narrowed in suspicion. Marianne cast desperately for something that could validate this statement, but it was so ridiculous that she came up with nothing.

"Your Majesty. I was not thinking when I climbed over- I wanted to return to a place me and my sisters had come when we were children."

She infused this with as much emphasis as she could, hoping Héloïse would acknowledge their connection. Instead, Héloïse looked to her right and called, "guards, please help me!"

"Your Majesty!" Marianne cried, and leaned forward like she was going to tackle Héloïse to the ground. Héloïse shrank back, eyes wide, and Marianne hastily withdrew herself. "Wait. Please. I will play for you. I am a skilled violinist- let me play for you. Don't call the guards. What shall I play? Something sweet, for dancing?"

Marianne hastily positioned her violin and began to play a quick tune, popular in bars. It was high and lovely and vigorous, impossible not to want to move to.

Héloïse didn't look impressed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape like she couldn't believe Marianne's daring.

"Is it displeasing?" Marianne said, cutting herself off. "Maybe you'd prefer something slow."

She started to play the only true slow song she knew. It was pretty, the kind of melody that let each of its notes grow fat and languid before letting them fall and starting on another. Marianne felt her face growing red as she tried to make it sound slower and more beautiful than usual. She finished the song entirely before she looked at Héloïse again. 

Her expression had not changed.

Marianne bowed deeply again, and felt angry at herself for finding herself here in such a position. How stupid had she been? Why had she thought it a grand and easy thing to sneak into the palace gardens.

"What is your name?" Héloïse asked, suddenly.

She didn't sound angry. Her voice was almost amused, as if seeing Marianne's subordination had tipped the scale. Marianne stared at the hem of her pink gown and said, cautiously, "Marianne, Your Majesty."

"And what do you do, Marianne?"

Marianne was confused, but she wasn't going to spoil the princess's sudden benevolence towards her. "I am a baker, Your Majesty. I live farther out in town, with my sister."

"Are you satisfied with that?"

Marianne finally looked up, just slightly. Though the princess's voice had changed, her face was still stoic and disapproving. Marianne said, haltingly, "I live decently, Your Majesty."

"I see. How would you like to become my companion?"

Marianne's head flew up, and she forgot herself in her surprise. Héloïse didn't react to her rudeness, carrying on almost carelessly. "My mother wants me to take on a female companion. She feels the state of my marriage is due to loneliness, and I hate the women she has suggested to me."

"Uh- Your Majesty-"

"You would live in the palace, of course. And you would entertain me with your playing when I want it, anytime. Does that suit you, Marianne?"

Marianne gaped for a moment. She tried to process what she was being asked, and found herself incapable of doing so. So instead she said, "yes, that suits me."

"Fine. Follow me."

Héloïse turned towards the courtyard and began to make her way towards the castle. Marianne followed her, more on instinct than of her own volition, and tried desperately to remember what she was doing and why. Her violin was still clutched in one hand, the bow in the other, and they brushed the sides of her rough skirt. 

They stepped through a magnificent set of glass doors, carved in intricate patterns that reflected rainbow light onto the walls of the lush interior. Marianne had thought the palace would be grand, but Héloïse took her through a dozen rooms bigger than her own, each with a different set of chairs and furnishings. It was like walking through a dream that couldn't decide what it wanted to be- a red floral room with a black piano and dark, thick curtains, or a green sunroom with huge windows and beige settees. Héloïse walked fast, unaffected by the beauty of her own house, while Marianne found herself tripping as she tried to take everything in.

At last, Héloïse led Marianne up a flight of stairs, reached through a small, doorless entryway, and onto the second story. They came out into a huge ballroom tiled blue and purple and completely bare. There was, on the opposite side, three large chairs. On the middlemost sat a woman. 

Héloïse walked towards her, and Marianne followed, noticing the shift in Héloïse's shoulders, the sudden aggression of her footsteps. She was surprised that she didn't break out into a run, though she was worried the heels that had kept a brisk pace on this flight through the palace would slip from beneath her and send her crashing to the ground. Already, she was of a strong certainty that Héloïse should not be harmed, in the way a pretty flower shouldn't be crushed or wilted.

Héloïse stopped, and Marianne stopped behind her, staring at the woman they stood before. As truly as she had known Héloïse's identity, she knew this was the queen. She had a regal, but tired face. Instead of beautiful, she seemed more worn but proud in what she was. Marianne bowed so deeply she was almost certain she cracked her back.

"Mother," Héloïse said in her sharp, sure voice. "This is Marianne. I'd like her to be my companion. She can play violin. She's good at it."

The queen shifted on her throne (Marianne was sure now that it was no ordinary chair- from her position she could see that its legs were a burnished gold. "Marianne," she said. Her voice was quiet and sort of distant, as if she spoke from a ways away. "Where did you find her?"

Héloïse did not answer. Marianne wished she could rise from her position- it grew uncomfortable, and her neck felt exposed. Before royalty, Marianne felt like a wild animal amongst pets, and she did not want them to try and test her to find what she tasted like.

"You are so strong-willed," the queen commented, almost disinterestedly. "Very well. Remember to keep her away from the rest of us."

Héloïse was silent for a moment, then said, "come, Marianne," and began to walk the way they'd came. Marianne straightened her back and followed, her feet almost stumbling on the fine, tiled floor.

Marianne was led up two more flights of stairs and into a grand hallway, at the end of which was a single large, blue door. Héloïse pushed past it, and Marianne couldn't help but trail her fingers along the beautiful metalwork that adorned it. It was a rising sun, its rays flaring out in thin, straight lines.

"This is my room," Héloïse said, waving her hand at the beautiful bed and table, the curtained windows that would, no doubt, show the city from far above. "You will stay in this room, so you will come when I call."

She pointed at the wall, which had no door on it at all. Héloïse did not step towards it, and so Marianne approached, studying the mural painted there. It was the land as she had known it, endless hills and valleys with farms at odd places, a sky overhead full of bird and puffy white clouds.

After staring at it for a while, she turned to Héloïse. "I shall sleep... against the wall?"

Héloïse looked at Marianne like she was an idiot, and came over, pressing the wall. It swung back (a secret door! Marianne was distantly delighted at the idea) to reveal a room much smaller than her old one, but nicer. The walls were brown, and the bed was dressed in sheets so pure white they hurt to look at. There was a table next to the bed, and a chamber pot. There was also a window, which spilled light onto the floor in a golden stream.

"Stay here until I call for you," Héloïse said. "I need to make arrangements. Good bye."

With no more ceremony, she let the door swing shut. Marianne made sure there was a handle from her side, then laid down on her new bed and closed her eyes.

What in the world was happening to her? She had been dropped into a strange fairy tale, subjected to odd feats of magic and mystery, and dropped into life with a princess. It was enough to write a song about. 

Marianne liked that. It was comforting, to think she might be recorded and remembered. And with that fantasy soothing her nerves, she drifted into a light sleep, her hands still holding her instrument tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the more i think about it the more i'm uncertain if "golden goose" retelling is accurate... where's the goose? Will there be a goose? only time will tell.  
> Hope y'all are staying safe and enjoying the story!


	4. Chapter 4

Marianne woke the next morning to Héloïse leaning over her. That made her scream a little, and she jolted up in bed. _That_ made her lean towards the wall, or where the wall would be if she were home, and led to her falling onto the floor of her new bedroom.

Héloïse peered over the bed at her, frowningly. "Marianne," she said.

"Good morning, You majesty," Marianne said, dragging herself up. Today Héloïse is wearing grey, and her hair is falling loose around her shoulders. She looked older than she should have been, even though the style was youthful. Perhaps it was the dark circles underneath her eyes.

"Please get dressed. We're going to breakfast."

Marianne stared at her and nodded. It was strange she was being called to breakfast- last night, Héloïse had brought her up a plate of beef and vegetables and had watched her while she ate it. Besides that interaction, her wolfing down food she had never tried before and Héloïse staring at her like a mournful ghost, they hadn't seen each other again, and Marianne had amused herself with nature almanac that was still in the desk drawer. She could barely read, but the pictures were vibrant and intricate, and she enjoyed looking at them.

By the time she had fallen asleep she had resigned herself that her life was either a dream she would awaken from or deathly boring.

"Here. You shouldn't wear your dress."

Héloïse briefly left Marianne's room, and Marianne quickly jumped onto the bed and sat on it, smoothing her underclothes so she looked at least a little more presentable. After a moment's thought, she wet her fingers in her mouth and combed them through her hair. She was glad for the first time for its ugly straightness, for it had not tangled as she presumed Héloïse's would have overnight.

She returned quickly, holding a plain brown dress. It was made of finer materials, but was similar to Marianne's original in its unflattering, matronly figure and neckline. At least she knew now that she was not here because of her outstanding beauty. To think she had thought so mightily of herself when sitting before her princess, solemn as she currently looked, make Marianne blush in shame.

"Put this on," Héloïse said. "Then come out."

She tossed the dress onto Marianne's bed, turned to go, then paused.

"And bring your violin please," she said.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, as far as Marianne could tell. When they sat down, there was no immediate flurry of attention from the others who dined. This was the sad woman who Marianne had met yesterday, the queen, her husband, who was broad and sharp, and a child who couldn't have been older than four years old. Even this toddler was oddly grim, poking slices of bacon into his mouth without so much as a burp.

They were all eating in the throne room, on a long table that had not been there previously. The table's length forced them to sit far apart from each other, but Héloïse had dragged the chair set out for Marianne closer to herself, so close that they were nearly touching, and had her sit there. Marianne had felt miserably embarrassed as the queen and king picked her apart with their eyes, clearly as confused as Marianne about what she was doing at their breakfast table.

They had made their way through one course, a honeyed oatmeal, before the king cleared his throat and spoke. "Héloïse."

"Yes," she said, without looking up from her oatmeal.

"You have another suitor arriving in a week's time. We have received word from his family."

Héloïse said nothing. Marianne felt brave enough to look at the king, and what she found there was oddly similar to an expression she had often seen on her own father's face after her mother's death. It was a contemplative sadness, maybe even disappointment. 

"He is in a very good position, Héloïse," the king said. "He would be willing to relinquish much of his power to you. You would experience ruling at his side."

Still, Héloïse said nothing. She took a big bite of oatmeal, eyes downcast.

"I don't think there will be many like him in the future, Héloïse."

"Answer your father, Héloïse," the queen said, in her absent-minded voice.

Héloïse looked up abruptly. Her hair was dulled by the dusty light of the ballroom, and made to lose much of its luster.

"Is he funny?" she asked.

Marianne blinked down at her bowl, confused. Was it possible that the rumors were true? That Héloïse would truly only take a husband who made her laugh?

"Well, Father? Do you find this suitable match to be funny?"

Héloïse's father stared at her, and Marianne noted, glancing through her eylashes, that a tinge of muted rage had pierced through his resigned sadness.

"Héloïse," he said, calmly. "You are ungrateful and spoiled. Think about us before you think about yourself. You're a woman now, not a child."

Marianne felt a sudden touch on her arm, and she looked over to see that Héloïse had grabbed her. "Marianne, please play me a song," she said.

The king continued, but Héloïse did not stop looking at Marianne expectantly. Not knowing what else to do, she scraped her chair out from the table, stood, and placed her violin under her chin. She chose something quiet and slow, terrified the king would order the guards on her.

"Play louder, Marianne!" Héloïse instructed, and Marianne did, the notes slowly swallowing the king's level words. Héloïse nodded at her, smiling humorlessly, and went back to eating her oatmeal. After a few minutes of this, the king gave up. Marianne had never felt so relieved.

Héloïse had Marianne play all throughout breakfast, and only commanded her to stop when the third course had been finished. By then, Marianne's arms were shaking. She had dropped a few notes by accident, when her fingers had stumbled or her bow had stuttered. Héloïse didn't seem to care, instead taking her arm and leading her back to their room. 

She left Marianne by herself for a while, and Marianne decided take in the view of the city from her window. She could see it all when she stood on her bed, and it was incredibly expansive. Not only could she see the city as it stretched out, but also the edges of the hills that she had called home. Maybe, after a rain when the air was clear, she could see all the way to the sea.

Héloïse opened the door, and Marianne shrieked. She made a fool of herself getting back on the ground, but Héloïse didn't seem to care. In her hands was a plate, much like the dinner she'd brought last night, piled with toast and fruits and little pink frosted cakes.

"I apologize for making you play through your eating time," she said, and placed the plate on Marianne's bedside table. Then, she stood in the corner. "Please, eat."

Marianne did, careful not to get too many crumbs on the bed. This was hard without shoving the pieces wholly into her mouth, but she did her best.

"I'm sure you have questions about your place at this house," Héloïse said, startling Marianne again. Before Marianne could swallow her toast and respond, Héloïse was continuing. "What does it mean to be my companion, and so on. I suppose I must explain myself. Please don't reveal anything I say now to my parents or anyone else."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Marianne said, finding her voice at last.

Héloïse cast her gaze to the window, looking mournful. It was alarming to Marianne at this point- had she imagined her surprise yesterday? Or was she truly only capable of looking sad? "Perhaps you know that I am unmarried. There is a reason. I do not want to be married, and my parents are confused by this. Last year I made them a deal- I said I would marry the man that could make me laugh. But I have no intention of ever laughing for a man I do not know. Marianne, I have a single great secret."

At this, she fixed Marianne with a stare so intense that Marianne was afraid for a moment about what she might say. Marianne's heart suddenly beat faster- could she be? But she had thought-

"I hope that if I go long enough without marrying, my parents will let me leave this place. I want to live a life of a normal woman."

Marianne nodded, almost disappointed. It was obvious to her that Héloïse had no idea what it was like to live as a "normal woman", all the terrors and mediocrities of simple life coupled with a fall from this luxury. She didn't comment, though. Héloïse's eyes drifted back to the window.

"I confess, Marianne, that I hope that you can help me avoid a marriage. If you can play like that, perhaps they will give up and let me leave this place. Maybe I can go to the sea."

For the first time, Marianne saw the ghost of a smile cross Héloïse's beautiful face. Her mouth twitched, her eyes widening just a bit. Before Marianne could track it, though, it had disappeared again.

"So that is your purpose here. Forgive me for not clarifying."

"It's alright, Your Majesty."

"You are allowed to go anywhere in the palace, except for mealtimes, when you will dine with me and play. You may use my washroom, and ask the servants for anything you wish. You have my protection, as long as you intend to use it correctly. If you would like to leave the palace for a while, that can be arranged but must be arranged in advance." Héloïse looked at Marianne. "Is that clear, Marianne? Are you amenable to those terms."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good. Please enjoy your breakfast."

Héloïse placed her little hand on the doorknob, and Marianne watched a change go through her body, as if she had gotten a sudden chill. "Marianne?"

Her voice almost frightened her- there was something odd about it, vulnerable. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Nothing. That's all. Good morning."


	5. Chapter 5

And so Marianne's new life began.

She quickly realized that there were patterns to life at the palace, patterns that both she and Héloïse followed like wheel-worn tracks in the mud. Marianne learned to wake up before Héloïse came to her, learned to expect her presenting her with a dress and asking her to come down. Meals were often quiet, but if the suitor who would arrive in a week were to even be brought up, Marianne would be on her feet and playing. She was glad she didn't have to do so every day, though; the food at the palace was delicious.

The time between meals stretched lazily, and Marianne found herself exploring the castle whenever she could. It was like a treasure chest, something exciting waiting around every corner. There were a dozen guest and sitting rooms, and most had libraries that Marianne perused. She briefly took up reading again, but eventually found it tiring and went back to searching for illustrations.

When she wasn't darting around the palace she was bathing. Marianne had never been able to take a hot bath before, and she grew addicted very quickly. The servants had her use the previous princess's bath, seeming nervous about the whole thing as they drew it up, and it had dozens and dozens of perfumes and soaps. They smelled like flowers, and honey, and made her feel like she was made of light. Marianne made herself nervous on how suddenly she had become accustomed to luxury.

She did, of course, never get used to not looking servants in the eyes or calling them by name. She was relentless to the one who turned down Héloïse's linens every day until she relented and identified herself as Annette. After that, Marianne was seemingly marked by everyone to be safe to look at and speak to without first being spoken to. Marianne, of course, asked everyone about a dark-haired maid who could sing, but no one knew her.

As for Héloïse...

Marianne had decided by the third day that Héloïse disappeared to some secret place every day, because she never saw her between meals. She was fine with this, deciding that Héloïse didn't have time to provide companionship to her lady companion. On her own, she explored a new room, and found a piano under a sheet. Marianne was gleeful; she hadn't seen a piano since she was seven, and that had been a tiny thing crammed into a corner and half-caved in for how hard its keys were pounded. This was beautiful, a pale cream color with keys like white, even teeth.

Marianne couldn't resist sitting down on the hard wooden bench and placing her fingers tentatively on the keys. The move actually made her heart race, and for a wild moment she wondered if her skills on the violin would suddenly and magically translate to the piano.

Carefully, she pressed down. The piano made a sound of complaint, the sound discordant and ugly.

She tried again, and, finding a similar result, instead chose one key and pressed it. The sound was lovely and clear, no hesitation in its trueness. Though she loved her violin, she suddenly envied the sureness of that sound, the comfort of the instrument's simplicity.

Marianne pressed that key a few more times, savoring the way it pierced the quiet room, and had graduated to the next key when she heard, "I would have thought you would know how to play."

As she did so often around her, Marianne jumped. She turned and watched as Héloïse floated in. Her face was, as usual, downcast, but her eyes were contemplative. She looked at the piano with an interest.

"Violin and piano are very different, Your Majesty," Marianne said.

Héloïse reached her, and traced her fingers lightly across the lacquered keys. "I used to hate it."

"What?"

"The piano," Héloïse said. "It's so violent. For a long time I could only play like this."

She jammed her fingers down on the keys, and the room filled with its awful squeal. It was like a wounded animal.

"I couldn't do better, Your Majesty."

Héloïse shook her head. "You have musician's hands, Marianne."

"I have my father's hands," Marianne said, smilingly. "If he had been a woodcarver, I would have been too. If he had been a dressmaker, or a baker."

"I'm glad he was a violinist, then," Héloïse said. "You play beautifully."

With that, she sat next to Marianne on the piano bench. Marianne was aware of their proximity, much closer than when they sat next to each other at dinner. When Héloïse reached to position her hands, her arm brushed Marianne's. It was feather-light, no more than a glance of pressure.

All of a sudden, Héloïse began to play. It was a simple tune, Marianne knew, but it was still fascinating to watch. Héloïse's right hand danced over the keys, dipping and flying, while her left moved steadily between four positions, over and over again.

"Did you love your father?"

"Hm?" Marianne said, having to take a moment. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"He was a good man."

"I think he was very good."

"And your mother loved him?"

Marianne watched Héloïse's hands for a little longer. She briefly looked at Héloïse's eyes, but they were fixed on her performance.

"She did," Marianne said.

"How did you know?"

Marianne was taken aback by Héloïse's curiosity, but she wasn't going to refuse to answer. Thinking back on those golden days, days spent in the sun together... it was the nights they gathered together that she noticed the way her father and mother looked at each other. Their faces were always full of _something_ , something rare and beautiful. 

"My father would play his violin," Marianne said. "And my mother would sing. They wouldn't quite dance, but they'd move around each other, in a circle, never looking away from each other. I think that was how I knew." After a moment, she hastily added, "Your Majesty."

For a moment, Héloïse just played, and Marianne listened. Héloïse's body went with her as she played, rocking a bit, leaning forward as the melody spiraled tighter. At last, the song broke back into its normal jaunt, but Héloïse's fingers stumbled and she stopped playing.

"I wish I could have seen it," Héloïse said, and she sounded small. Like a child. "I wish I could see what it looks like when two people are in love."

Marianne was still. She was afraid to break this moment, afraid that Héloïse's vulnerability would snap suddenly and become anger.

"My mother and my father married because my father was a 'good match'. What will that mean for me?"

Marianne waited to see if she was expected to answer, and decided to say, "perhaps he will be a good man. Perhaps you will find love, Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that. Call me Héloïse."

That made Marianne almost blush. Imagine, her calling the princess by her first name.

"There are many good men in the world, Héloïse," Marianne said. She was half lying, to tell the truth. 

"But there aren't many men who will love me."

"Why not?" Marianne demanded. "You're very lovable. You're smart, and you're beautiful, and..." 

Héloïse gaped at her, and Marianne realized that she had burst out with the last part, forgoing the gentle, soothing speech they'd been employing for the last few minutes. She quickly calmed herself down and continued, her voice mild, "and your dreams are very admirable."

Héloïse shook her head, and looked down. "Men don't know about dreams. Every one is an ass."

For a moment, her words hung there, and the Marianne began to laugh. After a second, where she stared at Marianne giggling, Héloïse's face cracked open and she laughed too.

It was an ugly sound, just like it had been when they were children, and it made Marianne laugh harder. She leaned her elbows on the keys, and they made a shocking jangle, just as ugly. This kept them both going for a minute longer.

"They bray like donkeys," Héloïse said, wiping her eyes and sighing giddily. "They, they kick up their legs to show their dicks off-"

"They smell like shit," Marianne added, and they both broke up again. Héloïse's face went pink, her eyes and nose scrunching up. She looked nothing like what Marianne had thought her to be- for a moment Marianne thought, _oh there you are. Why have you been hiding this?_

They settled down eventually, Héloïse pressing her hands to her cheeks and Marianne throwing her head back and sighing the last of her laughter out.

"Marianne, I will have to cut off my hair and make myself ugly, so no man will look at me," Héloïse said, and, like a dam had been broken, she smiled as she said it.

"You would look just as pretty. Instead, you should cut off your father's beard and glue it to your face."

"I would pretend to be my father." Héloïse's eyes were bright. "I could fool them all."

Marianne pretended to affix a serious expression to her face and said, sternly, "Héloïse. You cannot forsake the entire male race. You will have regrets later on."

Héloïse looked at Marianne. Her eyes were still amused, her mouth upturned and her cheeks flushed, but there was something entirely more radiant that appeared on her face then, something that Marianne could not name. Foolishly, she thought of her father and mother, dancing together in their cabin, looking only at each other.

"I don't think I will," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg best friend goals <3 <3 <3  
> This is about the halfway mark for this story- hope you're enjoying and stay safe!


	6. Chapter 6

"Héloïse," said the king at breakfast. "He's coming today at lunchtime."

It was a sudden interjection, and Marianne immediately glanced at Héloïse to see if she'd gesture her to start playing. The king had spoken fast, probably to prevent his most important words from being obscured by Marianne's violin, and he seemed nervous that Héloïse would start it up again.

Héloïse did nothing. She looked at her food with great detachment, speared a fat strawberry with her fork, and put it fully in her mouth.

"I expect you to attend the lunch in your best finery, Héloïse. Can you manage that?"

Sitting so close to her, Marianne heard the squish of the berry between Héloïse's teeth. She swallowed, and looked down at her own meal. She hadn't wanted to admit it, lest it become truth, but she had been aware that Héloïse's suitor- perhaps her future husband- was coming to attend to her today. The thought filled her with an unpleasant sourness. Some stranger, some _male_ stranger, was coming to appraise Héloïse's silences and her beautiful features, and maybe take her away.

Marianne chalked it up to her fearing for a loss of her employment. After all, it had only been a week. She was loath to return to her job at the bakery, having been around such splendors. She was also realizing that Héloïse was incredibly fun to be around.

Once you cracked the outer layer, of course. But, having done so, Marianne got the brighter version of her, the one who gave a tight, almost nervous smile when she was happy. Marianne had not been able to parse that smile yet, realize what was scaring Héloïse, but she imagined it was that she was scared it would all go away. Then again, she had no right to examine her reasons for how she acted.

"Well, we'll expect you, Héloïse," the king said, and cleared his throat. They all went back to eating in total silence.

Marianne pushed the fruits around her plate. What had she become that she developed a taste for custard pies over fruit? She was spoiled for normal life.

Glancing sideways, Marianne saw Héloïse looking at her food with a hard, furious expression. Héloïse's unhappiness was sharp and unquestionable, and her happiness was a soft thing, easily punctured. What had made her like that? Her parents, perhaps, and their loveless life? Or her loneliness, up in a high tower without a friend?

Slowly, Marianne crept one of her hands onto Héloïse's leg under the table, and patted her. Héloïse looked at her, startled, and Marianne smiled. It was a demonstration (up at the corners, like this), perhaps, or an affirmation (I'm very sorry you're being married off). Héloïse smiled back, delicately.

As she had grown addicted to the food and the baths, Marianne was addicted to Héloïse's attention. They spent most of their days together, after the piano, and did everything they could in the palace. They walked in the garden, letting their faces get pink and raw with sunshine, and tried to smell every flower in the beds. They had a footrace down the longest hallway, holding their skirts up and cackling as their bare feet slapped the beautiful marble. Héloïse won, and she had relished in her triumph for hours afterward. Five times, Marianne had asked Héloïse to read to her and she had. Héloïse's favorite book was a long, epic poem, and she read in a soothing, lilting voice. 

Last night, Héloïse had come into Marianne's room. It had been beastly hot, and Marianne was far from asleep, so she sat up immediately when she recognized her intruder.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Are you awake?" Héloïse asked. Her voice was grave in the darkness, and it made Marianne laugh.

"I'm fast asleep."

"I had hoped so." Héloïse came in, and sat on Marianne's bed. Then, after a moment of consideration, she flopped down upon it and sighed. "The night makes me restless."

"The heat makes me restless," Marianne corrected, and fanned her face. She was sure she must have looked terrible then, her hair frizzy and unkempt, but Héloïse's eyes were closed and her mouth was soft and pleased, so Marianne couldn't think of asking for privacy. Besides, she was certain Héloïse didn't care. Why would she care?

Because she _was_ the princess, Marianne reminded herself. Sometimes it was hard to remember.

"What shall we do?" Héloïse wondered allowed, and Marianne was brought blushingly back to a similar time when she had been fifteen, alone with a boy for the first time and he had asked that same question.

"I can play you something." That had not been what Marianne had said then ("sleep," she'd told him firmly, feeling foolish and betrayed for believing him to be her best friend)

"Hmm," Héloïse said. Her voice was drowsy and yawning, and Marianne loved it. Liked it. She _liked_ it. "Will you play me the song you were singing the day I found you?"

"I can play it," Marianne said, already fumbling for her bow, "but I couldn't sing it. It was a maid who was singing it."

"You don't have to keep up that joke, Marianne, I know you snuck into the palace somehow."

"I'm telling the truth!" Marianne protested. "There was a strange girl in a maid's outfit who gave me this violin- it appeared from thin air, almost, actually- and then she sang with me a song from my childhood." Marianne frowned. "The whole thing was strange."

"Didn't you ever try to find her?"

"I did! But no one knows her. It's like I imagined her, but I couldn't have gotten this violin from nowhere."

"Marianne!" Héloïse said, and lunged at her. Marianne, surprised, dropped her violin to the floor and allowed herself to be pinned to her own mattress, Héloïse's soft body warm against her. For the briefest moment, Marianne was shamelessly aware of how thin her nightgown was, and how thin Héloïse's nightgown was, and how dark and hot it was...

"You must have met a fairy!" Héloïse said, as excited as a child and apparently oblivious to the effect she was having.

"What?" Marianne asked, her mouth dry.

Héloïse smacked her shoulder and rolled off her. "A fairy. She had magic, and she made the violin out of thin air and gave it to you. How exciting!"

"Very," Marianne said, heart thumping so hard she was sure it was audible.

"I've never met one, but my sister said she saw one in our flower bush once. Tell me, how tall was this girl?"

"About my height."

Héloïse's face fell. "Oh. Well, it still could have been a fairy."

"That's ridiculous," Marianne said, lifting herself off her back and readjusting her nightgown. "Why would a fairy come to me?"

"To lead me to you," Héloïse said.

She sounded so sweet when she said it, and she smiled with the brightest sincerity that Marianne had ever seen, and she was forced to clear her throat and search for her violin again.

"Well, I can't sing the song. I can only play it."

Héloïse sighed and laid back again. "What a shame. I wish I could learn it, and sing it with you."

"I could try and teach you," Marianne said, clambering off the bed and standing tall. "I'm not very good at singing, but, I'll try."

Héloïse's eyes gleamed. "Yes," she said, happily.

Marianne decided not to play along, worried she'd trip herself up, but instead sang, a little flatly:

_My lover has hair like honeyed gold_

_When I am near him I shan't grow cold_

_And if ever I should go on to the sea_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

_Oh hey, lover, oh hey_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

When she was done, she looked at Héloïse shyly. Héloïse's expression was hard to parse: her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes wide. Then, she was smiling and clapping.

"It's pretty," she said. "So pretty! Where did you learn that?"

"My father taught me," Marianne said, blushing but proud of herself all the same. Héloïse let out a tiny laugh, as if it were shaken from the bottom of her stomach. 

"I don't think I could learn it tonight," Héloïse said. "I've been told that my voice belongs to only two notes."

That made Marianne laugh, and all of a sudden she was playing the song on her violin. It felt so good to play it; it always had. A piece of home, always within her fingertips.

Almost without being aware of it, she looked at Héloïse. On the bed, she looked ghostly pale in her white nightgown, her blonde hair falling gently across her face. Héloïse grinned at her, and rose to her feet, so they were looking at each other from the same level.

The song soared into the chorus, and at the same time they moved. Never breaking eye contact, they began to walk in a slow circle, always facing each other. If Marianne had stopped to think about what she was doing, she might have made a mistake. In fact, if she knew what she was doing, she might have forced herself to stop, to wonder why. She wasn't thinking, though. She was living in a realm of feeling, and her only goal was to move in time with Héloïse.

They picked up speed with Marianne's bow, and all of a sudden they were dancing. It was a crude sort of dance, more of a mad stumble, their feet colliding with the stone floor with ugly slapping sounds that nearly cut over Marianne's violin. Marianne did not look away from Héloïse, almost afraid to. Her eyes were so bright in the moonlight, so clear to her that she was suddenly sure it was a dream. She was dreaming, like she'd been dreaming about those eyes since she was eight years old.

With a flourish, Marianne finished, and they both stopped. They were panting. The intensity of their movements had occurred to them both as an afterthought, and it was ridiculous now how wildly Marianne had moved. Then, Héloïse began to laugh, and she threw herself down on Marianne's bed and said, "I have never danced like that before!"

And suddenly Marianne wasn't nervous, and she wasn't embarrassed. She was filled with an utter joy, jewel-bright and piercing. It took her breath away.

At the table, Héloïse rose suddenly, and Marianne did the same. She had noticed how Héloïse tracked her meal, waited for Marianne to finish before she directed them to leave. Marianne had never mentioned it, a little afraid to take out a fragile thing and examine it.

As soon as they had left the ballroom, Héloïse was groaning.

"I hate it when they come," she moaned. "They're so _boring_ \- it's not a challenge to keep my face straight at all."

"This one could be different," Marianne said, and Héloïse looked at her in betrayal. Marianne amended, "for your entertainment, I should hope so."

"You'll be with me when he comes, won't you?" Héloïse begged. Marianne snorted. 

"That's no place for a lady's companion."

"Why are you being a traitor to me, Marianne? I'm wounded."

"I'm sure you are." Marianne tilted her head. "Perhaps I should go into town today, instead. Leave you and your lover alone for a while."

Héloïse made a pained noise. "You'll be back by dinner?"

Marianne turned to her, and was surprised to see that she looked truly nervous, as if Marianne really wouldn't come back. Marianne took one of her hands, feeling bold, and pressed it between her own.

"Of course," Marianne said. "I'm not going to leave you."

It startled her badly how much she felt she meant those words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about lesbian repressed longing when you haven't had human contact outside of your family for months... someone hold my hand with both of their own and tell me they'll stay with me PLEASE.  
> Hope y'all are enjoying, and stay safe!


	7. Chapter 7

"Marianne, you bitch!" Julia howled as soon as she saw her. "You're miserable, and completely unwelcome in this house! Go somewhere else! Go! Go!"

Marianne smiled at her sister, feeling greatly affectionate towards her. "It's good to see you to, Julia."

Julia threw herself onto Marianne's shoulder and grabbed her around the waist, heaving with sobs. Marianne gave her a few consolatory pats and surveyed the apartment over her sister's bowed head. Still clean, still cramped- very familiar.

"Where have you been, you wretch?" Julia spat, pulling away. Her hair was falling in her face, but it did nothing to hide the murder in her eyes. Marianne weighed her options and decided that honesty was the best policy for her sister. But she didn't have much time to spend, and she fully intended to spend it in town. So she grabbed Julia's arm and pulled her out the door.

"I'll tell you on the way to the bakery," she said.

The sun was bright overhead, and it made Marianne feel cheerful rather than oppressively hot as it normal would've. Her town looked incredibly quaint and endearing today, like she was revisiting a favorite childhood toy and delighting in its oddities. The old, perpetually drunk man who leered at them as they passed was charmingly handsome today. The shepherd's son, who was notoriously bad at keeping whatever sheep he had on a string from gnawing at passerby's clothing was funny and cute. Marianne favored him with a wink. He blinked in response, and failed to tug his sheep away from yet another victim.

As they passed a sweetshop, a haggard voice called to them. They both stopped, and turned to see a beggar woman. She was old, with dramatically deep wrinkles and thin grey hair, and Marianne was surprised she had never seen her before. More than that, she was surprised a beggar woman who must have been from somewhere else in the city had come to her decrepit part to ask for money.

The woman held out a ragged brown cap with a hole in it. "Spare coins?" she said, her voice feeble and wavering almost performatively.

"No," Julia said, probably not meaning to sound as harshly dismissive as she did. Julia was deathly afraid of losing track of her money- she logged it meticulously and held onto it whenever possible,

Marianne would normally pinch her pennies too, but the pocket money she'd had when she'd left for the palace that day no longer had to be rationed for rent. She slipped a coin from the pocket of her skirt and dropped it in the woman's cap.

"Here," she said. "Have a nice day."

The beggar woman looked in her cap, and then looked back at Marianne. "That's all?"

Marianne blinked in surprise. The woman's feeble tone had suddenly been dropped entirely, and she sounded brash and annoyed. "Excuse me?" Marianne asked.

"One coin? What will that get me? If I wanted something useless to line my pockets I'd pick up rocks." The woman shook her cap again at Marianne and gazed at her expectantly.

Marianne felt Julia tugging on her sleeve, but she frowningly reach back into her pocket and produced two more coins. The woman accepted them, still frowning.

"Give me three more, and I'll grant your greatest wish," the woman said.

Marianne snorted as she dug out three more coins. "My greatest wish?"

Suddenly, the beggar woman didn't look or sound ridiculous anymore. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, and she echoed, "your greatest wish, Marianne."

She seized Marianne's outstretched arm, then, and Marianne heard Julia shriek, but she was frozen. The woman pulled herself towards Marianne, her sour breath wafting into Marianne's face. "You can't be everything you want to be, but you can be everything you need to be."

Then, she dropped Marianne's arm and slapped her cap into her hand. The coins jangled out of it, and the woman ignored them. She also ignored Marianne and Julia, seeming to have forgotten her strange words entirely.

Marianne was still frozen, so it was easy for Julia to drag her away. "What a woman!" Julia said, shuddering. She latched one of her arms around Marianne's. "She must have been mad."

Without thinking about it, Marianne tucked the cap into her pocket. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, and she was filled with the same surreal wonder as she had when the girl- the fairy, according to Héloïse- had sung with her. They had reached the bakery before she snapped out of it, and could finally stop Julia in her tracks and say, "I'm living at the palace."

Julia had not protesting Marianne leaving when she knew where she was going. Instead, she said, giggling like a girl in love, "tell your princess about me!"

Marianne promised to do so. She intended to tell Héloïse everything about her life, in bits and pieces. This was a conviction of hers that had come into her head unbidden.

The sun dipped as she made her way through the palace gates, exhausted by the long walk, but satisfied with her journey. Julia knew where she was, and knew an acceptable amount about what she was doing, and though Marianne had liked to go back she had also found herself strangely detached from her old life. She felt like an adolescent who, having their first taste of adulthood, can no more turn back to their child days then reverse the arc of the sun. The palace was by no means her home, but she felt it could be.

Only the rooms with Héloïse in them, she thought. I won't claim anything else, and I don't want to.

She walked up the stairs to the ballroom, certain she had missed the introduction of dinner and feeling ashamed for it. Marianne thought she might walk past the room altogether rather than risk the shame of entering late. She would tell Héloïse she came from town late. Before she could pass the door, though, she felt herself oddly compelled to peer through the crack in the door. Though it was ridiculous, she decided she might as well give in the childish urge, and pressed her face to the edge of the door.

Inside the room, there were the usual three chairs. Marianne's absence, however, had been filled by a tall young man with red hair. 

Marianne felt a rush of anger at this stranger sitting in her spot, though he wasn't really in it. His chair was farther away from Héloïse, so he couldn't have touched her knee without half-crawling on the floor. Marianne appraised his sharp nose, and the way his hair was shorter in the front than in the back. He looked... old. Older than Héloïse, surely.

Héloïse looked blank.

Her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in front of her, and her mouth was firmly set. Marianne realized that she was looking that way in an effort to conceal any positive emotion. Any smile or laughter could be taken to mean that she approved of this man. Earlier, Marianne had said she wished for Héloïse to find a man to entertain her, but she was fiercely happy that Héloïse was not entertained now. 

The young man cleared his throat. "Would you like to hear a joke from my country, Princess?"

Héloïse did not respond.

"A man was, uh, courting a married woman." The man glanced nervously at the king and queen, as if they might be scandalized by their innocent daughter hearing of such a thing. That made Marianne laugh. "The woman was married to a, uh, a very foolish man. And one night the man- not the foolish man, the one was having the affair with the foolish man's wife- came to house of the foolish man and his wife, to see the, uh, wife. And he imitated the foolish man's voice- the other man did-" The young man was clearly struggling. Marianne felt a strange pity for him, through her anger and hatred. "He imitated him because he was- because he was having an affair, and if the neighbors should hear, they would think the man who was calling to the woman was the foolish man, but it was really the other man. And the man, the foolish man, heard this imitation and said, 'let him in, for it is me!'"

The young man did not allow for his audience to react first- he began to laugh nervously, a sound that continued for about a minute afterward. Héloïse took a sip of wine. Marianne stepped away from the door and went upstairs to her room.

While undressing, something soft and brown slipped from her pocket. She picked it up, and realized that it was the beggar woman's cap. Could it be? It looked now to be brand new, and, when smelling it, seemed to smell like fresh leather. Perhaps she had seen it wrong earlier. She placed it on her bed table and sat on her bed to wait.

She was not there long, she thought, before Héloïse threw open her door and collapsed onto her bed.

"Sweet Marianne," she groaned into Marianne's sheets. "Please never leave me again."

"Was he boring?"

"Boring?" Héloïse said, popping her head up in her fury. "He was the opposite. Every moment with him was aggravating and exhausting. I feel as if I've been running all day." And with that she fell back again, on her face.

"Poor baby," Marianne said, with some real sympathy, and reached out to stroke Héloïse's hair, gently. She realized what she had done when her hand was already touching Héloïse and it was too late to draw it back. Fear pooled in her stomach, because they had never touched each other so frankly before. Maybe that wasn't the reason, though, because such a moment between sisters or friends was normal.

Could Héloïse feel it? How Marianne touched her like a lover? 

"That feels nice, Marianne," Héloïse said, turning her head to the side. Her lips, so perfect, were smiling. 

Marianne drew back and stood up. "Héloïse, I am very tired. I walked from the other side of the city."

"Oh." Héloïse sat up, and looked slightly confused. Did Marianne imagine a tiny flash of hurt, there? Such thoughts were dangerous- Marianne banished them. "Alright. Good night."

"Good night," Marianne said, relieved, and closed the door after Héloïse so quickly she was momentarily worried she had snapped off a finger.

Pressed against her door, she heard Héloïse shuffling around, preparing for bed, and she stepped away from her own door. Her face was warm, and her chest felt bruised from the battering of her heart. She stumbled to her bed and laid down, on top of the sheets, and stared at the wall. Her eyes could not close. 

What was this? Why was this happening? She had always joked- she had always told her friends it was a joke. Had some god above her found her words and twisted them into a reality? Or was this her fault? Was she the one who was ruining herself?

Dangerous jealousy, dangerous possessiveness- but it was the softer part of it that was more frightening. Those moments alone, the gazes shared, their dance-

Marianne forced her eyes shut. This, of course, did nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to look up "medieval jokes" bc my brain was too dumb to come up with one.  
> I wrote this instead of studying for my AP test, but technically it's historical fiction (it's not, I can't even pretend that it is). Hope y'all are being more responsible.  
> Thanks for reading and stay safe!


	8. Chapter 8

It was terrible to know.

Marianne was furious at herself for admitting it at all: why couldn't she have stayed ignorant? Why did she have to be made aware, suddenly, of every little thing about Héloïse?

For example, when she saw her the next morning she discovered that Héloïse's nose was a marvel. It was the kind of nose a sculptor might create, carved to perfection after days and days of work. And here was Héloïse, just walking around with it? 

When they sat down at the table, she noticed how beautiful her hands were, and had to physically turn herself away from her to _stop_ noticing them. It was brutal torture to have to sit next to Héloïse and not realize these things about her. Marianne wanted to take back everything she'd thought about leaving home the day previous and insert herself back into her old life, rather than have the excruciating pain of witnessing.

Marianne was shocked out of this reverie by Héloïse's hand pressing her arm. She looked at her, dazed by her perfection, and realized Héloïse was asking her to play again. She stood quickly and reached for her violin- but it wasn't there. She must have forgotten it in her room.

They stared at each other in mute horror for a moment. Then the king, who had clearly prompted this disaster, said, "he thought you were most hospitable to him. That is a very good sign."

Feeling terrible, Marianne sat down once again. She couldn't look at Héloïse. 

"He is offering you another visit next week," the king continued. Marianne couldn't look at him either, but she detected a smug lilt to his voice that suggested he was a bit too happy about their current situation. "It is very good news."

"It's not good news," Héloïse said, bitterly. "He is persistent. That's all I know about him."

The king snorted. "You know his position, and his name. I wouldn't define that as nothing."

"I would," Héloïse said, then returned to scraping her plate with her fork.

"All you need to know if that his persistentness, as you said," the king said around a mouthful of eggs, "will be the reason he will be your husband."

Time stilled. The queen coughed quietly into her napkin.

Suddenly, Héloïse stood up. Her chair was flung backwards with a clatter, and everyone jumped. Marianne looked at her, and saw the stony expression, the coldness, had returned then.

"Excuse me," she said. Then, she all but ran out of the room. Her strides were so long that she seemed to cross it in mere seconds. Marianne hastily stood up, hesitated, then stood Héloïse's chair back on its feet. Without a second glance at the king or queen, she hurried after Héloïse.

The air in the palace was cool and damp. Though it had been aggressively sunny the day before, it had suddenly gone grey and gloomy overnight. Marianne felt an ominous foreboding in the air, like something bad was about to happen. She hoped she was wrong; she did not know what she would do if Héloïse were to return to the girl she had met when she had first come to this palace.

She found Héloïse in the piano room, standing in the middle. The knuckles of her hand were pressed against her teeth, and her eyes were wide and unseeing.

Marianne crept inside, shutting the door behind her. "Héloïse?" she said, cautiously.

Héloïse blinked, and looked at her. "Oh, Marianne," she said. And that was all she said.

Marianne crossed the room and stood before her, but as she reached her Héloïse went and sat on the piano bench. Now, they looked at each other from feet apart. Her heart sank, realizing this was how it started. This, and then all of the warm moments disappearing. 

"I'm sorry I forgot my violin," Marianne said.

Héloïse's eyebrows came together, and she smiled in an almost confused way. "I don't mind. It was only once."

Marianne blinked. If it wasn't the violin- was it because Héloïse had-

Could she tell?

"Héloïse, if I offended you last night-"

"Last night? I am not offended. You deserve your privacy, Marianne." Héloïse snorted, and her head dropped back. "I couldn't be angry with you- it's my father who made me this way."

It was like the color came back to the world. Of course it wasn't Marianne- how selfish had she been to assume such a thing? 

"The way he speaks to me... he clearly thinks I'm baiting young men to see who's the most persistent. Perhaps he went blind and deaf last night? Or did he truly belief that boy had captured my heart with his witty 'uh's and 'well's?" Héloïse scrubbed her eyes with her hands and groaned. Marianne could not help but noticing how wonderful she found Héloïse's criticism of her suitor, even as she sat next to Héloïse on the bench and laid her hand on her arm in pity.

"He's simply confused," Marianne suggested. "Have you spoken to him?"

"What would I say?" Héloïse asked. "I don't want these boys, I want..." 

And at this she stopped, and swallowed. "... to go," she finished, as if this was in no way what she had started to say. Marianne inhaled sharply without realizing she had done it.

"You could say... I am not sure. Maybe-"

"Marianne," Héloïse said, suddenly, and turned to her on the bench. Her hands twitched in her lap. "I lied."

She spoke in the open way one did when they had only just decided to be brave and do something all at once. "You lied?" 

"I lied. I don't want those boys, I want you."

They stared at each other. Héloïse's blue-green eyes were wide and fearful, her pink mouth slightly open. Marianne could not imagine what she looked like in that moment, could not imagine what Héloïse could discern from her gaze.

"Héloïse," Marianne said. It was barely a sound.

Héloïse's hands shot up and she grabbed Marianne's face. With the childish aggression of someone who has never done something before, she kissed her. 

When Marianne was a child, she would press her lips to the side of a peach and close her eyes. She thought that was what kissing should feel like. Kissing Héloïse didn't feel like that- her mouth was open, and wet, and pliant. Her breath as she pulled away was heavy and warm on Marianne's mouth.

Marianne slipped one of her hands into Héloïse's hair and kissed her back, gently. She fitted their mouths together and kissed Héloïse the way a treasure should be kissed: reverently, with every soft moment she had ever felt between them. She kissed Héloïse like she was, like gold, like honey. She kissed her slowly, and surely, and only when she had done this did she pull away and look at her again.

Kissing Héloïse was not as she had imagined kissing would be. But it was better, because she loved her. Because she loved her wide eyes, her creeping smile, the dazzling pink that colored her cheeks.

"I want you, too," Marianne said.

"Oh." Héloïse smiled wider. 

"I was so upset when he came yesterday."

"I was too." She still sounded surprised, as if she couldn't believe what Marianne was saying, and so Marianne kissed her again. Héloïse's arms wrapped around Marianne's waist and she smiled against Marianne's mouth. It was such a sweet, wild thing caught between them. Marianne wanted to live in this moment.

Héloïse pulled away, and Marianne opened her mouth to say, "I love you." Héloïse said, "run away with me."

Marianne shut her mouth and blinked. "What?"

"Run with me!" Enthused, Héloïse leaped off the bench. "We can leave now. I will tell no one, and we can go to the sea. Let's go, Marianne, together."

Marianne swallowed. "Wait."

"Please," Héloïse said. "I... I love you. I love you." She seemed like she was just trying the words on, and Marianne's heart sank. 

"Wait," Marianne said, and Héloïse stilled, looking at her. It was such a painful thing, to break apart this tentative bond. It was such a painful thing to see the hope and joy on Héloïse's face when presented with an escape to say, "that won't work. How will we get out?"

"We can sneak out," Héloïse said, as if this was an answer.

"Héloïse, you're the princess. You cannot... you can't drop everything and just go with me."

Héloïse's face was crumbling. It was a terrible thing to see. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. You shouldn't do this." Marianne struggled strength from somewhere deep within her and said, "wait for a man who will love you. That will be your escape."

A stillness fell over Héloïse's open, sorrowful face. "You don't love me?"

"I'm not a _man_ ," Marianne said. "And I'm not a king. In a few years you will have forgotten me."

She said the words the way she might have said her last words before she died. It was terrible to watch her, so she looked at the wall. 

"You don't love me."

"You don't love _me_ ," Marianne said, hollowly. "You like my company, and you want to leave this place. That's not the same thing."

Silence settled over them like a thick, breath-stealing mud. Marianne wanted to be anywhere but in the room with Héloïse as she became what she had been before. A crystal shell of a girl. A sculpture.

"Leave," Héloïse said. She was quiet and sharp.

Marianne swallowed, grateful. "I'll be in my room."

"No." Héloïse stood, and Marianne glanced at her dress as it came towards her. "Leave the palace."

Marianne looked up, and took a shuddering breath. She had never seen Héloïse so utterly... gone. 

She couldn't believe they had been kissing only minutes ago. She couldn't believe that Héloïse had been hers, for a moment, and she had let her slip away.

"Fine," Marianne said, evenly. "I'll get my things."

And without looking back, she marched from the room. She could almost hear something snapping, something tiny and new. 

But it wasn't new, wasn't it? She had loved her since the moment she had seen her, all those years ago. It was like every moment since then had been an attempt to find her again, to hold her. Was this how it ended? No confession of this quiet, secret love, but rather an abrupt, ugly goodbye?

Apparently so.

Marianne closed the door behind her on her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a RIDE. It really made me realize how much I switch up their names, and barely ever catch myself doing it... if something just doesn't add up it's probably because i decided not to proofread and got confused.   
> Why do I always write these kinds of angsty scenes? They always leave me so stressed lol. Maybe its because I love the dramatic comeback (no guarantees there will be one this time tho... make sure to come back tomorrow and see what happens!!!) anyway, as always, thanks for reading and stay safe!


	9. Chapter 9

In the end, Marianne couldn't bring herself to leave.

Instead, she headed to the garden. They only thing she had was her violin, which she tucked under one arm with her bow.

Outside, the air smelled like the coming rain. It was atmospheric, and dark, and it made Marianne more sad than angry. Her father had loved the rain. Every year, he would tell Marianne and her sisters to be happy when it rained, because it meant a good crop was soon to come. 

When she was around ten, she had once woken from her sleep and heard something outside. She crawled over her sisters in the dark, feeling shaky and scared, and peered out of her window. There, in the open fields, was her father. He was whooping and jumping up and down, his usually stoic nature replaced with a clear joy. There was rain falling steadily, making a curtain around him.

"You're ridiculous," Marianne heard her mother say. "Come here. You're ridiculous- look at you, you're soaked!"

She couldn't hear her father's response, but he held out his hands to her mother. After a moment, Marianne saw her mother relent and step into the darkness of the fields.

In one motion, her father swept her off her feet and hoisted her over his shoulder. Her mother gave a giddy, swooping laugh, and batted at his head. He swung her down, and began to dance with her, their hands bouncing, their legs kicking out. It wasn't coordinated, but they were both giddy, and so there was no problem when they leaned in and kissed each other on the mouth.

Marianne had ducked down and crawled back to bed, deeply embarrassed to have witnessed such a thing from her parents, but now it made her heart ache. The last year, the storms had been what had killed them. Day after day of rain and winds, lashing so hard at the house she thought it might blow away. Her father merely sat in his chair. He didn't move.

He had lost love, hadn't he? He had lost the bit of happiness he had and now spent every day living as if he were already dead.

"You're looking sad," someone said.

Marianne flinched, and for a golden second she thought it might be a repentant Héloïse, coming to say she was sorry. But it was just a maid.

It was just-

"You!" Marianne said, pointing at her. 

"Me," the maid said, holding up her hands. She looked annoyed. "No need to sound so disgusted."

Marianne gaped. She looked normal enough, if not a bit _too_ plain, but she couldn't be _normal._

"Are you... a fairy?"

The maid looked completely disgusted. "Really? Am I a fairy?"

"You disappeared the first time I met you!" 

The maid raised an eyebrow. "Lots of things disappear, Marianne. And fairies are _small_. I'd have expected you to... how should I phrase it.... be smarter?"

"What?" Marianne asked. 

" _What?_ " the maid/not-fairy mocked. It was getting a little old now. "You're unobservant. Look around you."

Marianne did, for the first time. She had wandered into the gardens just to get away, not considering any specific place she would go, but she saw now that she was sitting on a thin stone wall that ended in a patch of rose bushes. Before her was a patch of lush green grass.

She had never thought to come back here, in all her time in the palace, but it was obvious now that she had ended up exactly where she'd come to be. 

"This is where I saw her for the first time," Marianne said, dumbly.

"Yes."

"How did you know that?"

The maid looked like she was in physical pain. "I don't know. How did you get here when you were eight years old?"

Marianne looked at her, and tried to look and see _her,_ as she had assessed her surroundings. She wanted to see what this woman seemed to think she was missing, and understand what she was trying to say. The rain came down- she noticed that it did not cling to the maid's hair or clothing but rather slid off like water from a duck's back. She was magical... she knew Marianne's name...

"You... did this."

The maid inclined her head, as if telling her to continue. 

"You brought us there, that day. And again, last week. You did that."

The maid nodded, sighing. "At last. Acknowledged."

Marianne scrutinized her. "You're magic."

"Yes."

"Did you have me step on my violin so you could give me this?" Marianne waved the violin in front of her. The maid tracked it with her eyes, clearly unamused.

"That isn't a new violin. It's the same one."

Marianne stared at her, then at the instrument. "Huh?"

"That part hardly matters at all. Marianne, focus. Why are you here, right now?"

The woman snapped her fingers in Marianne's face, and Marianne blinked. "I'm here because... she didn't want me to stay."

"What is wrong with you? Are you selectively deaf?" The maid groaned and snatched Marianne's bow, pointing at Marianne like it was a sword. "She asked you to run away with her."

"I said no."

"Why?"

"Because she's a princess and I'm a violinist!" Marianne said, frustrated. "Why are you asking me that if you knew it already? Who are you really?"

"I told you that that doesn't matter."

"Then what matters?"

The maid tilted her head and waved the bow around in a circle, pointing to Marianne's attire. "This is what a violinist looks like?"

"Yes," Marianne said, disgruntled. 

"So what do you want to look like?"

Marianne swallowed her confusion, fixing the maid with an unamused stare.

"Marianne. If you could look any way, right now, how would you choose to look?"

She inhaled, long and hard. If she could look any way, she would choose...

What Héloïse wanted. 

She would choose whatever Héloïse wanted.

It used to be her. For a moment it was, but-

"I would want to look like a prince," Marianne said. Remembering suddenly fairy tales and their warnings, she added, "just for a moment. An hour. Or-"

She stopped because the maid was _smiling_ at her. That was a strange sight, almost dreadful to behold. "Good," the maid said. "Well. Now you know. So put it on."

"Put what on?"

The maid's smile disappeared. "The _cap_. The cap I gave you- where is it? In your room? Here-"

She snapped, and the soft brown cap that had been resting on top of Marianne's bedside table dropped into her hand. Marianne had no time to gape, no time to confirm what the maid had said about _her_ giving Marianne the cap, because suddenly she was shoving it into Marianne's hands, along with her bow.

"Here," she said. "You useless girl. Take it all. Don't waste it."

Without any more explanation, the maid turned to leave. "Wait!" Marianne cried. "I don't understand!"

"Yes, you do," the maid said without turning around. "You've been hearing that song for your whole life now. Act like you know it, now."

Then she was gone. No puff of smoke, just nothing where she had once stood.

Marianne stared at the spot for longer than she should have, getting steadily wetter and wetter, until she realized the water couldn't be good for her violin and she ran towards the grove of trees at the opposite end of the garden.

Standing there, she realized the maid had been referring to Golden-Haired Lover. The song she had been playing for most of her life. The song she had played the night she and Héloïse had danced.

She had never thought herself to kind of girl to mean the words of the song. She had never had a lover, golden-haired or otherwise, that she felt inclined to take away to the sea with her. The song was something removed from her and her feelings in the way stories were.

Now it felt like the song was written for her.

And then, she decided, she was going to use it one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one's very short and boring, but this one was a needed transition into the next one, which is going to be Héloïse POV (oooh aaaah). The next chapter's the conclusion, and then there'll be one more that's kind of an epilogue.  
> Speaking of this fic ending, I have an idea for another one in this fandom, but it would have Marianne an Héloïse having slightly different (like, same first few letters) names in every chapter. Would that be hard to read? If you feel so inclined, give me your thoughts.   
> Hope y'all are enjoying, and stay safe!


	10. Chapter 10

Héloïse's mother looked over her without commenting when she came storming in. That was perfectly fine to Héloïse; at the moment, she wanted nothing more than for her ears and eyes and senses to stop working so she could stop feeling things. This was something so clear in her mind that it was painful. She wished she could shut it down and sit on her throne and be the wooden puppet that her mother and father so dearly desired for her to be.

She didn't want to feel like this. In fact, she wished Marianne had never come to the garden, wished she'd never looked at her. That might have done it. If Héloïse had never looked at Marianne and felt that subtle connection, none of this would be happening. But it was, and it was tearing Héloïse apart.

"You seem troubled," the queen said. Héloïse wished she would close her mouth and never open it again. 

"I am troubled," she responded, as evenly as she could.

Her mother was silent for a moment, not that Héloïse could hear much over her teeth grinding together, but eventually she said, "he's a nice young man. Nicer than most."

She thought Héloïse was upset over that boy. What a laughable idea! What a funny and terrific idea!

"You think that your father and I want the worse for you, but, Héloïse, we want you to be happy."

"Happy as you?" Héloïse asked. She couldn't help herself. She could still taste Marianne in her mouth, and that made her reckless and so angry she couldn't think anything through.

"Sometimes contentment is happiness," the queen said. "Boredom. Apathy."

Her voice was too impassive to make the words stay in Héloïse's mind with any conviction, so Héloïse rested her chin on her hand and stared out the window.

Marianne was out there, now. Was she home, yet? Was she safe? 

Could she also not get her lips to stop remembering, yet? In perverse anger, Héloïse hoped so.

"Héloïse, don't be upset."

Perverse was such a strong word. She had heard it from her sister, as a jest, but she had never applied it to herself until she was thirteen. Before then, she had thought she was just as any girl was. There was no pressing thoughts of a sexual nature, then. There were few of a romantic nature, either. She had so little contact with anything from the outside world, such an utter isolation that it was hard to see anyone but her nannies and her parents and her sister. There were a few playmates, but they had stopped when she was young, maybe eight.

The last one, the strange girl who kissed her cheek and ran away, had been the last of them.

Perhaps that had been the first of it, the root of a problem Héloïse had not understood to be a problem for so long. Héloïse had remembered that meeting so fondly for years, fixating on it until she discerned malice in that other girl's eyes. After a long time, she even seemed to remember her calling to her friends beyond the bushes to tell them what a pervert the princess was.

It couldn't be true, though. She had been the one who had kissed her- she had been the pervert.

It hardly mattered anymore. That was so long ago, and she had given up obsessing about that. Besides, Marianne hadn't minded. Marianne wouldn't have called her a pervert; she had hurt her in a different way.

"He's the best you'll get, Héloïse" her mother continued, as if Héloïse cared at all. "Sometimes, it is necessary to accept certain things that are hard. As queen-"

"I don't care!" Héloïse exploded. "Mother, I couldn't care less! I- I lost-" and then she cut herself off, afraid she would reveal herself and also that she might start crying.

She had lost _everything._

Her mother believed that happiness could be boredom and apathy, but Marianne had been the only thing to break Héloïse from her own feelings of both, and nothing had made her feel so much and so good in _so long_. That was happiness. That was _love_ , even if Marianne didn't believe it and Héloïse had only just discovered it. That was the feeling of looking at someone and believing that they made you good. Marianne made Héloïse good, and soft, and her gaze was so patient and so pretty.

Héloïse had not realized how long she had been waiting to feel something, feel anything, until she discovered the kind of emotions Marianne awoke in her. Frantic feelings. Feelings like being set on fire, like being struck by lightning. And yet, they were soft.

Wasn't that love? A whirl of paradoxes- discordant notes that resolved into something golden.

"You lost?" the queen echoed.

Héloïse swallowed and collected herself. "My companion has been excused," she said.

She didn't look at the queen, couldn't look away from the window. Where was Marianne now? Was she playing that song?

"That's a shame."

"Yes," Héloïse said, thickly.

"You always seemed so happy with her."

Héloïse looked at her sharply. She had been certain she had disguised that. But the queen's face was softer than usual, her eyes sad and quiet.

"It is good to know love," she said. "Once, at least."

"But not throughout my life?" 

"Maybe. It's not something you can choose." The queen reached for Héloïse's hand and touched her fingers gently to the back of it. "You can just hope that it will find you."

Héloïse ripped her hand away, and would've have swept to her feet if she had not heard a sudden noise float in through the far door. They both froze, listening- it was not usual to hear a strange noise in their very protected castle without forewarning. Fear tensed Héloïse's body until she recognized the sound as music. It was music.

The door was flung open, and it must have been of its own accord because in stepped a young man playing furiously on the violin. He had short dark hair, and was wearing a brown cap that did not suit his fine clothing.

"Who are you?" the queen barked, because it was truly a strange sight. The man didn't stop playing, but grinned at them.

"I have come for the Princess Héloïse!" he said. His voice was so strange, almost familiar. "I have heard that a prince may win her hand if he can persuade her to laugh!"

They gaped at him. Héloïse could do nothing but watch him get closer, watching the mesmerizing swoop of his bow, the rain-shaded light glinting off his golden finery. He finished his song with a flourish, and bowed deeply.

"I hope this will please you," he said, and began to play.

Héloïse's body reacted before her mind knew what was happening. Her heart nearly came to a stop, and she didn't know why but she was reminded vividly of that girl in the garden all those years ago.

She had been so lonely.

She had never been kissed in her life.

The man opened his mouth and sang, his voice throaty but feminine. Unmistakably familiar, even in a disguise. 

_My lover has hair like honeyed gold_

_When I am near her I shan't grow cold_

_And if ever I should go on to the sea_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

_Oh hey, lover, oh hey_

_I will keep my golden-haired lover with me_

She could not keep herself from crying, listening to Marianne warble her way through the song. To her, it seemed the most beautiful thing in the world. 

You haven't changed at all, she thought. How could you? Time couldn't spoil you- it just made you shine.

The song was ended, and the prince that was Marianne looked at them both, smiling almost nervously. "Héloïse?"

Héloïse let out a choked, sad little laugh. Then another. Her tears ran into her mouth, and she could not reach to wipe them away. In a sudden, childlike compulsion she looked to her mother.

The queen was crying, too.

Just slightly. Héloïse had never seen her cry before, it was so strange that she was almost afraid. But then, moving slowly but deliberately, she nodded her head. Just once.

Héloïse ran to her, their arms tangling as they leaped towards the door. They didn't stop running, flying by servants and guards with nearly supernatural speed, until they had run into town. Then, they ducked behind a building and their mouths met. It was so much brighter, now that Héloïse could not see a future where it would end. She grabbed the cap off Marianne's head, and when she opened her eyes she had returned to her, flushed and smiling.

"I'm sorry," she said, breathlessly. "I was- I didn't-"

Héloïse kissed her on the cheek. When she pulled away, Marianne's eyes were wide, and she had trailed off.

For a moment, Héloïse was uncertain. She stammered, "I told you I'd kiss your cheek, when you came again."

The smile came again to Marianne's face, blooming like a flower in spring. She really was the most beautiful thing Héloïse had ever seen, ever held between her two hands.

"So I came back," Marianne said, and kissed her again in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, epilogue time!  
> Thinking back, I probably shouldn't have begun this story with only the vaguest idea of what "golden goose au" meant, but whatever. There was the laughing thing, and maybe I'll throw a goose in the next chapter. Plus, you might have noticed a slight gold motif... very subtle, I know. Thanks for reading, and stay safe!


	11. Chapter 11

**Two Years Later, By the Sea**

It was a stormy night. Not the kind of stormy that spelled any particular disaster, but the exciting kind that lashed the sea against the cliffs. Marianne thought the ocean was so dramatic on nights like this. Héloïse loved it.

Though the winds posed no harm to their house, which was old and made of stone, they did prevent them from going in to town. At first, Marianne had been worried; Julia was coming in to visit them in a few days, and she was terrified her silly sister might just go flying into the sea, but Héloïse assured her that she was being ridiculous and made them both tea. She was getting so good at doing things for herself- she could make tea and soup and oatmeal on her own. Marianne didn't care about doing chores, but Héloïse was so proud of herself, and so happy to be of use that it made Marianne happy.

Marianne was watching her pour the beverage into their two cups, feeling the effects of the fire she'd made washing over her and thinking maybe she'd ask if Héloïse would read to her, when there was a knock on their door.

They looked at each other, at once alarmed. "I'll get it," Héloïse said, gravely, because if someone was out in weather like this it couldn't be anything good. She hurried to the door, but as she reached it it swung open of its own accord, and in stepped a woman.

An old woman. Marianne recognized her, of course, immediately, and leaped to her own feet.

The beggar woman who had once been a maid who had helped Marianne looked around the room. She took in the sparse floors and walls, the cramped size, and finally Marianne, standing there. "Nice place," she said, rubbing her hands together. "Do you mind if I come in?"

She stepped past Héloïse without looking at her. Héloïse spluttered, clearly confused by whatever it was that was happening, but Marianne jumped in, "it's been so long."

"Obviously." The woman shed her shawl across the floor and collapsed onto their couch. It would certainly leave a wet stain when she got up. "You did well coming here. Best to get out of the king's eye."

"You're from the palace," Héloïse said, rushing towards them. She scooped the shawl off the floor and held it in her arms. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one who let you get here," the woman said, dryly.

"She gave me the cap, Héloïse," Marianne explained. She ran a hand through her hair, which she had taken to wearing loose, and stared at the woman. Why had she come here? Was she here to extract a price? That was what was supposed to happen in fairy tales, wasn't it?

Héloïse's eyes went wide. "You're the fairy," she said.

"I'm not a fairy," the woman said, twisting to glower at Héloïse. "Why do you two want me to be one so bad?"

"Why are you here?" Marianne asked, quietly.

The woman turned to fix her with a gaze so intense it made the hairs on her arms stand up. "Why do you think, Marianne? We should talk in private."

They all went silent, and a thunderclap sounded so loud it seemed to shake the room. Marianne took a shuddering breath and nodded.

"Okay. Héloïse, would you wait in the bedroom?"

Héloïse looked alarmed then. "Why?"

The woman was facing away from Héloïse, so Marianne could see both her lover's look of confusion and the woman's look of impatience. "We just need to talk."

Héloïse looked like she wanted to argue, but at least she let out a closed-mouth sigh and turned to go.

"Sorry. Only a moment." Then, feeling a desperate need to do so, she added a hasty, "I love you."

Héloïse cast a last look, in which she gave her a small smile, then she disappeared into their bedroom. Marianne now stood alone with the woman.

Another long silence. The woman stretched her arms over the back of the couch and considered Marianne carefully, while Marianne tried to keep her mouth from trembling.

"Well," the woman said.

"Well?" Marianne echoed.

The woman sighed. "Are you going to tell me things have been?"

Marianne blinked. "What?"

The woman held a gnarled hand out in front of and examined her own nails. "I went through pains to get you two this happy ending. Is it everything you wanted?"

She could lie, if this was a test. If this woman wanted her to tell her she was living beautifully with the woman she loved, maybe it was better to deny it. But she couldn't possibly deny it. Every moment she spent with Héloïse was miraculous, every smile and breath in proximity to her a blessing. She couldn't believe her luck, couldn't believe that she had gotten to fall in love with her twice.

"Yes," Marianne whispered.

They regarded each other. Then, the woman cracked a smile, her thin, chapped lips parting around rotted teeth. "Excellent."

Without another word, she stood. Marianne could only stare as she hobbled towards the door, but finally found her voice. "You aren't going to make me pay?" she squeaked.

The woman looked over her shoulder. "Please. _Fairies_ make people pay."

She gripped the doorknob and threw the door open. There, cutting through the vicious storm, was a path of golden sunlight that fell upon their doorstep, as if the sun was waiting for this woman to come.

"Why did you do it?" Marianne asked, unable to help herself. "If there's no price?"

This time, the woman did not look back. "You needed each other. And I knew that putting you two together would make a beautiful thing, and I like beautiful things." She raised a hand, as if to wave. "Have a good life, Marianne. Live freely."

Then she stepped through the door. For a single moment, Marianne saw her transform, her wrinkled skin becoming smooth. Her hair went from coarse and grey to long and fine. But then the door swung closed. She heard it lock, too.

She stared after her, unsure if she should try and see where she was going. Eventually, she heard their door open and Héloïse emerge.

"Where is she?" Héloïse asked.

"She left," Marianne answered, simply. How else could she say it.

"That's funny. She left her shawl."

Marianne didn't answer to that, and so Héloïse came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist. With her lips against her ear, she whispered, "is everything all right?"

"Everything is alright," Marianne said. She placed her hands over Héloïse's, where they rested on her stomach, and smiled. Héloïse had dropped the shawl, and so she did not see what it had become: a golden violin and bow. 

Marianne would play the violin throughout their life together, and never once had to retune it. She wrote songs for Héloïse and sang them for her sister's children when they came, and even once for Héloïse's sister, who arrived in a cloak and left early in the morning. Héloïse never tired of hearing her, and Marianne never tired of Héloïse, and they lived every day in breathless harmony. 

The princess became a woman, a woman who lived by the sea with her violinist. Together they made life into music, a song of a thousand _I-love-you_ s that kept them golden throughout their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah didn't really know how to end it so i went with whatever the fuck that was.  
> Wow, this ended up being A LOT longer than three chapters! I'd really like to thank everyone who read, left kudos, and left comments- i read every single one and I really appreciate y'all, you're all so sweet!!! thank you.  
> Ever since quarantine began I've had a really hard time working up the stamina to write, and writing fanfiction has really made me get back into writing consistently, every day, and remembering how to enjoy that? I mean, writing for two hours every night and posting it without editing for ten days in a row might not be the best way to do that, but it was definitely an experience?? Idk.  
> Okay, this is done! I will be back in a short time with another fic for these two, but it's going to be a LOT different and probably will be a weirder concept, so you don't have to read it lol. But, if you want to see what I sound like when I proofread and edit, check that one out.  
> Anyway, this has been a long note. Love y'all so much, thanks for reading, and stay safe!


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